Aught, no. 15 (2006)

David Laskowski

Thinking I Flatter

Its riper ingots are a constabulatorial-
my-king- my-king, naked in egged’s
doggerel speech --nnnn & igrous, a flail
perspicuously tar -- osseus in a sea
of red petals and “aware of my faults”:
to blame passion is to curse a blood
sausage — oxidation’s domesticated bull
clearing the air ­ petty and unmoving
and endemic to nostalgia: a radish
always complements its soil ­ speckled
grain are stars unboweled. A body’s
sphagnum gets stuck in the throat.



What It Should Be

A sewn’s spastic ambrosia’s lithe
of a philly so tendered in gold, n-
speared, obsequious chatter: shits-
liquor, tone-deaf. Pleasures known
only to a man of nobler birth: eu-
genia’s poor tyrants dry humping
in tango ­ boweevil and weevil
to negotiate terms for surrender,
to dimple, short and fat, reticulate
in cotton ­ wholesale destruction
embraced so wholey. Onion-spree
high across a tangle - garlic paste
in a pharaoh’s tooth: designs in-
herent in a spider and its web
captures the fly ­ parlor games
played with increasing frequency.


Copyright 2006, by the author. All rights reserved.
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